Tao Upanishad #12

Tao is void, emptiness; like the emptiness within a pot.
Only when nothing is filled in does Tao become available. Only when the mind is empty does dharma reveal itself. Only when the person effaces himself so much that he can say, I am not, does he come to know the Paramatma. Understand it so. The more the person is full, the more the divine is empty; the more the person is empty, the more the divine manifests in its fullness.

Understand it so. When it rains, the mountain peaks remain empty; for they are already full. Pits and lakes are filled, because they are empty. The rain falls on the peaks as well. The rain makes no discrimination. It does not knowingly choose the lake. It falls upon the peaks too. But the peak is so full of itself that there is no room left in it to receive anything, no space, no gap. All the water runs and gathers in the lakes. The occurrence appears reversed: that which is full remains empty, and that which is empty is filled. The sole virtue of the lake is that it is empty. And the sole vice of the peak is that it is too full. Too much.

Lao Tzu says: dharma is like an empty pot. Tao means dharma. Dharma is like an empty pot. And whoever would attain to dharma must beware of every kind of perfection.

This is a very wondrous statement — of every kind of perfection. Not only that if the pot is filled with wealth it will be a hindrance. If it is filled with knowledge, it will be a hindrance. If it is filled with renunciation, it will still be a hindrance. If there is anything in the pot at all, it will hinder. The pot must be empty, simply empty.

But all of us, in life, are busy in a thousand ways trying to become full. It seems to us that life exists so that we may become complete. By some means or other, by some path or other, we must achieve perfection, I must become whole. Preachers explain it, parents tell their children, teachers tell their students, gurus tell their disciples: Will you waste life like this? You came incomplete, will you go incomplete? Should you not be complete? Should you not become perfect? Life is futile if you do not become whole. Attain something at least. Do not remain empty.

And Lao Tzu says that whoever wishes to attain dharma must beware of every kind of perfection. No, he is not to become perfect, nor to remain imperfect. He is to become empty.

See it in this way — it will become easy. Wherever we are, we are imperfect. We are never empty, and we are never perfect. Our being is stuck in incompletion. In between, in the middle. Wherever we are, we are in the middle, incomplete. Neither empty nor perfect — always between the two.

This is not about one person. In existence, whoever is, is in the middle. On one side is emptiness, on the other side perfection, and our being stands in between. Our entire arrangement is to proceed from the middle toward perfection. And Lao Tzu says: from this middle, go toward emptiness.

All our efforts are that, since we are incomplete, how do we become complete? How to become filled? The pain of our life is precisely this — there is no fulfillment, no fullness. There is love, it is incomplete. There is knowledge, it is incomplete. There is fame, it is incomplete. Nothing is complete. Let something become complete! Let love alone be complete, so that I am so filled there is no demand left. If we may become complete in any direction, there will be fulfillment. We too will feel filled.

But the more we strive to be perfect — this I would say to you — the more we strive to be perfect, the more our emptiness becomes evident; we do not become perfect. Therefore, the century that is the more feverish, eager, passionate for perfection will be the century that experiences emptiness the most.

For the first time the West has become fully educated. On the earth, in known history, the West for the first time has advanced greatly in education. But here is the irony: the Western mind experiences emptiness as none other does. It feels hollow, vacant.

America for the first time has touched those distances in wealth that we would call closest to completeness. Only closest we can say, for nothing ever becomes fully complete. Looking at our own past poverty, it appears America has gone very far in touching wealth — closest, approximately. Let the meaning of closest be clear to you. We cannot be perfect; we are always in the middle, wherever we are. But if we compare societies and men with the past: a tribal group in a jungle, or a poor village in Bastar, and New York — in that comparison New York comes almost near.

I have heard: one day a boy came home. Overjoyed, he brought a prize from school. He told his mother, I got a prize today, because I gave the correct answer. Mother asked, What was the question? He said, How many legs does a cow have? The mother was surprised. What did you say? He said, I said three. Mother said, Fool, a cow has four legs. He said, That I too have now come to know. But the other children had said two. I was the nearest to the truth, so the prize came to me.

That is all that closest means. If there could be a nearest to completeness in wealth, then America has produced three legs of the cow. It is almost near four legs. Four legs will never be. They cannot be. In the human situation it is simply not possible. Man’s very being is incomplete. Therefore whatever man does, it does not become complete. If the doer is incomplete, how can the deed be complete! If I am incomplete, then whatever I do will be incomplete. It can be approximately better than someone else’s.

So America, in filling wealth, has almost had its pot filled two-thirds, three-quarters, three legs. But today the poverty of spirit, the helplessness that is felt in America! And today the thinkers of America move around one word — emptiness, meaninglessness. It is all without meaning, all empty, nothing is full. And they are almost near fullness! What is the matter?

Man cannot be complete; incompleteness is his fate. The manner of man’s being is such that he will remain incomplete, wherever he be. And the incomplete mind desires to be complete — that too is man’s fate, a part of his destiny, that incompleteness longs to become complete. In incompletion there is pain, there is a sense of inferiority, of poverty. One feels: let me be whole. So the effort to be complete is born of incompleteness. And whatever arises out of incompleteness cannot be complete. It will be a by-product of incompleteness.

Now it is I who will try to become perfect — and I am incomplete. My effort will be incomplete. The fruit I will bring will be incomplete. For the fruit and the effort arise from me. My acts cannot be greater than I am. My karma cannot be greater than me. My attainment cannot go beyond me. All my attainments will be within my limits. No musician can sing better than himself. Nor can any mathematician solve a problem better than his own capacity. Or can he? What we are, our doing comes out of that. We cannot be better than ourselves; even though all our striving is to make ourselves better than ourselves. This breeds melancholy. Much striving, and little result. And whatever results come, the same incompletion stands there again and again. We keep meeting ourselves, going round and round. We run in the hope that some day we will find the complete. But when the seeker is incomplete, that which he finds will be incomplete. We cannot attain anything more than ourselves.

This is the situation. We are in the middle — incomplete, half-done. The half-done mind longs to be filled, to be whole. Desire for perfection arises out of incompleteness. Remember, in completeness no desire for completeness can arise; it would be meaningless. Desire is always the opposite of what we are. We are poor, so we desire to be rich. We are ill, so we desire health. We are incomplete, so we desire wholeness.

Desire is completely logical; in an incomplete mind the idea of becoming complete will naturally arise. Desire is logical — but its fulfillment will never happen. For the incomplete can never become complete — by any effort, by any practice, by any discipline or sadhana. Because all sadhanas, all practices, all efforts will arise from the incomplete. The stamp of incompleteness will remain upon them. And if an incomplete man attains the complete, then he was not incomplete at all. There would be no meaning to calling him incomplete.

This is the situation. And the whole race of man — whatever the dimension, whatever the direction — is toward becoming perfect. Lao Tzu says, become empty. And Lao Tzu says, beware of any idea of becoming perfect. For that is the net, the calamity in which man is destroyed. So understand yourself well, understand this: do not get into the calamity of becoming perfect. Become empty. And the wonder is: the one who becomes empty becomes complete. For emptiness is the supreme possibility in this world.

Consider this: a pot is filled — can you conceive a pot so full that not a drop more could go in? You cannot. The pot is completely full, you say, full to the brim. But if I pour even one more drop into it, you will have to say, it was not complete. However much you imagine the pot to be full, it will never be perfect. One more drop can still be added.

Nanak, on his travels, halted outside a village. There was a fakir on a hill in an ashram enclosed by walls, famous for his perfection. People said he had attained completeness. Nanak sent word: I too would like to meet and know what kind of perfection this is. The fakir sent down a cup filled to the top — so full that not a single drop more could go in — as his greeting: I have become like this complete. Nanak placed a small flower upon it and sent it back. He set a tiny flower afloat in the cup and returned it.

The fakir came running, fell at Nanak’s feet. He said, I used to think I had become complete.

Nanak said, whatever a man does in trying to be complete, some space always remains. At least a flower can be floated. And a flower is no small thing.

Even if we imagine a pot entirely filled, still one drop more can be added. But understand this too: if the pot is absolutely empty, can you empty it more? No; the pot is utterly empty. If that fakir had sent an empty pot, Nanak would have been in difficulty. For then to empty it further would be impossible. And that which is full can still be filled further; that which is empty cannot be emptied further.

Therefore fullness never attains perfection, and emptiness is always perfect. Emptiness can be perfect; fullness cannot. Thus only one perfection is possible in human existence: total emptiness, absolute void.

Lao Tzu says, Tao is like an empty pot, not like a filled one. Like an empty pot. Hence whoever is eager for Tao, for dharma, whoever is ready to journey, must be saved from the temptations of all kinds of perfections. All kinds of temptations!

The ego will strive to become perfect. All of the ego’s sadhana is just this: how can I become perfect! But Tao will be attained by the one who becomes empty, where no ego is left.

A man can become empty. There are reasons. What we do not have, perhaps we cannot obtain; but what we do have can be dropped. What we do not have may not be obtainable — for what power do we have over it? But what we do have can be dropped — over that our power is complete.

I said, man is in the middle. On this side is emptiness, on that side perfection. Man is incomplete. Some things he has, some he does not. Now there are two ways. What he does not have should also become his, then he will be perfect. The other way is that what he has he drops, then he becomes empty. But what we do not have, it is not necessary that it will come to us. It is not in our hands. But what we do have can be dropped. That is in our hands. For that we need ask no one.

Now this is delightful: if one must become perfect, one will have to pray to God. Even then it may not happen. But if one must become empty, no help from any God is needed. You are enough. There is no asking.

Therefore in those religions that have arranged for emptiness, prayer has no place. In religions like Buddha’s or Lao Tzu’s, where the arrangement is toward emptiness, prayer has no place. Prayer has no meaning. For there is nothing to ask for; then what to pray for? Whom to pray to? What we have, we will drop; and the fuss is over.

What we do not have, that must be begged for. Then one will have to stand, hands folded, at someone’s door. One will have to do something.

There is something else to see. To obtain what we do not have, time will be needed. Because what we do not have will not be obtained today itself. Tomorrow, the day after, next birth — who knows when? Time will be needed. But what I do have can be dropped this very moment, instantaneously. No time is needed for that. To say, I will drop it tomorrow or the day after, is meaningless. Because what I have, I can drop now. And if I postpone it, then none but I am responsible. But if what I do not have does not come to me now, I am not solely responsible; for I may try my best, yet it may not arrive. It will depend upon a thousand factors whether it comes to me or not.

You may desire that the sky come into your courtyard. You may desire that the sun sit inside your house. But it is only desire; whether it will happen or not depends on a thousand things. It does not depend upon you alone. For that you will need supports.

Lao Tzu leaves no place for prayer. Lao Tzu says, there is no question of asking; whatever you have, drop it.

Another delight. Learn this whole arithmetic. I have ten rupees. Suppose a hundred thousand rupees is the figure of perfection. I have ten; then my journey is very long. If you have ninety thousand, your journey is short. And if you lack only five, your journey is very close. And my journey is exactly as far as I have only five or ten. If we move toward perfection, we are not on the same ground. Then we are not equal. One has five, one has ten, one has ten thousand, one has seventy-five thousand, one has ninety thousand, one has ninety-nine thousand, one has ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. A vast distance separates. If our goal is perfection, men cannot be equal.

But if you have ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and I have one rupee, if the movement is toward emptiness, we both can go together. Equality is complete. I drop my one rupee, you drop your ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine. I will be empty and you will be empty. Only the journey toward zero can place man in equality; otherwise, never.

Therefore societies oriented toward perfection — and they all are — can never be equal. Only those whose journey is toward emptiness can be equal. For in the face of emptiness, your ninety-five thousand makes no difference, nor do my five. I drop my five and reach where you reach by dropping ninety-five thousand. It will not be that you will receive a big emptiness and I a small one. Our emptiness will be equal. The pot in which all the water was filled will be turned over and be empty. My pot with only a single drop will also be turned over and be empty. Between the emptiness of your pot and mine there will be no hierarchy. We will simply be empty.

But if the vision is of perfection, equality is impossible. Impossible. Then the journey will be different for each, and when it will be completed cannot be said. Time will be needed. And any dharma that requires time to be attained is, by nature, weak before time. If a dharma demands the condition that it will take such and such time, that dharma is no longer unconditional. It has a condition: time.

If rightly understood, such a dharma becomes a product of time. And whatever is produced by time is not timeless. Whatever is born within time, dies within time. Take note: whatever takes birth in time, dies in time. If one end of a thing lies in time, the other end cannot lie outside time.

But emptiness can happen instantaneously — here and now. Even to say instantaneous is wrong. In truth, emptiness occurs outside of the moment. Filling happens within time; emptiness happens outside of time. The moment you are empty, you are beyond time. And to be empty requires no time.

Hence if anyone comes to Lao Tzu and asks, I have committed many sins, done many evils, I am a very bad man — how long will my liberation take? Lao Tzu would say, it can happen now, here. He can say, here and now. Because he says, the question is not that you have to become something; what you are, that too you have to drop.

So Lao Tzu has never given any idea of how many lives it will take, how much time will be needed. No — Lao Tzu says, now and here. Therefore the nirvana of which Lao Tzu speaks is sudden enlightenment. It can happen now. Not even a moment need be wasted. Yes, if you yourself do not want it, that is another matter. There is no other obstacle. Lao Tzu says there is no other obstacle. If you yourself do not want it, that is another matter. All else is excuse.

Understand well: even the postponement of moksha is our excuse. Not attaining nirvana is our device. No sin is preventing it. Only we do not want it; hence we search for explanations why it is being delayed.

In Lao Tzu’s vision, time is no hindrance. Become empty now; open the fist here.

Lao Tzu also says that fullness can never be quiet. A half-filled pot sounds; a three-quarters filled pot sounds. However full the pot, it will make sound. Only the empty pot becomes silent. Why?

You may say: might there not be a pot so completely filled that it makes no sound?

But Lao Tzu does not accept this. He says, when the pot is filled there are two things: the pot, and that with which it is filled. Where there is duality, there cannot be perfect silence.

Understand well. When there is something in the pot, there is the pot and there is what is in it. Duality persists. Therefore the one who is eager for perfection remains full of duality, full of conflict; conflict continues. Only the man standing in emptiness will be outside conflict, for no other remains. The pot is empty — who will make noise? There is not even anything to collide with. There is nothing in the pot; the pot is alone. Remember, only in advaita is peace possible, because there is no one to clash with. Wherever there are two, there will be collision.

Now this is very delightful, and has its own logic. Whenever you fill yourself with anything, know for certain that what you are filling with is not you. Whether it is wealth, fame, knowledge, renunciation, even God — whatever it is. Remember, whatever you fill yourself with, it will not be you. It will be something else. And filled with the other, can there be peace?

It is obvious: how will a pot fill itself with the pot? It will be filled with water, or oil, or milk, or with poison, or with nectar — but always with something other than itself. How can a pot be filled with the pot? If the pot is to remain the pot, emptiness is its way. If the pot is to be filled by nothing but the pot, then emptiness is its method. Otherwise the pot will be filled by something else. You can give it any name you like; names make no difference. We do get deceived by names.

A great theologian once came to Lincoln. He was speaking high-sounding things — God, heaven, hell! Lincoln said, I want to ask, are these not just names? The theologian said, No, not mere names. Lincoln said, leave it then. Let me ask you, how many legs has a cow? The theologian felt insulted: here I am speaking of moksha, of God, of heaven and hell, and you ask about a cow’s legs? Still Lincoln insisted, please. He said, Four. Lincoln said, if we call the cow’s tail a leg, if we name it a leg, then how many legs? He said, then five.

Lincoln said, there lies your mistake. You may call the tail a leg, yet it does not become a leg. Because you say so, does the tail become a leg? You may label it so, still the tail remains a tail. Your label makes no difference. Because a leg is not just a name; it is a function. The tail cannot do it. You can give it any name.

We live much in the confusion of names. Man’s greatest confusions are of labeling and naming.

There is a Sufi story. A squirrel sits under a tree. A fox passes by and says, Fool, even on seeing me you do not run! Do you know, I am a fox — I can rip you into two at once.

The squirrel says, Any certificate? Have you got any certificate? That you are a fox, have you any written proof?

The fox is baffled, for no squirrel had ever asked such a thing. An unheard-of event! Squirrels simply run on seeing a fox. No squirrel had ever dared to ask for a certificate. The fox began to sweat; such a thing had never occurred. She said, Wait, I will bring a certificate.

She went to the lion and said, Kindly give me a written certificate. My honor is being dishonored. In her mind ran: an ordinary squirrel! She did not say that to the lion. She merely asked for a certificate. In her mind: this is too much, never heard in history. The lion wrote a certificate. The fox returned. The squirrel was still there. The fox read aloud: the lion declared that this is a fox, a very dangerous animal; squirrels must beware and should not speak this way. Hearing only the preface, the squirrel disappeared. She thought, then it is certain. She ran away. But the fox became so absorbed in reading and in savoring her own praise that by the time she finished reading the certificate, the squirrel had already gone.

The fox returned to the lion. On arriving she was surprised to see a deer standing there saying to the lion, Have you any written certificate? How are we to believe you are a lion? The fox said, This is too much! Now what will the poor lion do? We have already taken the certificate away.

The lion said to the deer, Look, if I am hungry, you will not even have the time to fetch a certificate — it will be proven. And if I am not hungry, I do not care whether you believe me to be a lion or not. If I am not hungry, I do not bother what you think. And if I am hungry, you will not have the time to worry about who I am.

The fox said, Majesty, why did you not say this to me? Why did you give me a certificate? Even an ordinary squirrel, I could have handled her. The lion said, You never told me that a squirrel had asked you for a certificate. I thought some stupid human being must have asked. Of late these animals too have begun to fall into human stupidity — asking for certificates.

Among man’s fundamental foolishnesses, naming and labeling is basic. With names, great convenience arises. Man says, I am filling myself with God. Then he forgets that this too is duality. It makes no difference with what you fill yourself. One thing is definite: you are the pot and you are being filled by something. Whether it is the world, or moksha, or love, or prayer — it makes no difference. You are absent. You are the filler, or you are the filled. Whatever is being poured in, call it by any name — call the world moksha — it will not change anything. Duality will continue.

In truth, we can only be filled by the other. If one is to abide purely in one’s own being, then there is no way but emptiness.

Therefore Lao Tzu says, Tao is like an empty pot. In using it one must beware of every kind of perfection.

In using it — if dharma is to be used, then one must beware of the mischief of perfection, of all perfections. Think a little about this word use. If dharma is anything, it is life’s ultimate use, life’s ultimate meaningfulness. If Tao or dharma is to be used, the one counsel Lao Tzu gives is: beware of all kinds of perfections, of the craving for perfection. And the use of dharma will begin. For the moment a person becomes empty, dharma becomes active, dynamic. And the moment a person is filled with things, dharma becomes inactive, burdened, pressed down. Dharma is not destroyed.

This room has empty space. Bring in so much stuff that not an inch of space remains. What does it mean? Did the empty space that was here earlier get destroyed? Did we succeed in destroying it? Or did the empty space go out of this room, and the room get filled? The empty space of this room cannot go outside, for emptiness is not a thing that can leave. And where will it go? Outside there is already enough space. In this vast sky there is nowhere to store the empty space of this room if it goes out — where would it stop?

How will you destroy emptiness? Then the other possibility is that it was destroyed when we filled the room. But only a thing can be destroyed; emptiness cannot be destroyed. Emptiness means that which is not. How will you destroy what is not? To destroy, a thing must first be.

So however much you fill this room, even seal it with solid cement, the empty space will still be here. It cannot be destroyed, nor can it go out. Then if some day we want the empty space, if we wish to live here, what shall we do? Will we bring empty space from outside? Will we manufacture it in a factory?

No, we will simply remove the things. The empty space will reveal itself. Things only cover it. Remove them, the space becomes manifest.

We are just so. Emptiness is our nature. It is our dharma. It is Tao. We keep filling it with things. We fill so much that the emptiness is pressed down. Pressed down — we must say so. We cannot really press it down. But it becomes unmanifest, invisible. What to do now?

Lao Tzu says: beware of this urge to be full. Drop the urge to be full. Then all the arrangements you have made to become full, you yourself will pick up and throw away. They are only arrangements for being full. And the day you throw them out and inner emptiness is available, that very day you are established in Tao.

And Tao is very active. The void is a very dynamic force. And this void has immense use. In truth only emptiness is useful. Use means: the moment a person becomes empty; whatever incompletion was, he has thrown away. He did not try to become perfect, for to be perfect he would have had to add more things. He threw the things out. He dropped the very project of building a mansion. Now, when he is no longer incomplete, what will you call him? He has thrown out the entire arrangement of incompleteness; he is no longer incomplete. What will you call him now?

We say empty only so that the eye turns toward emptiness. The day a man throws out all the paraphernalia from within — all plans for being perfect — becomes empty, that day he becomes complete. To be free of incompleteness is to be complete.

This is another definition. One attempt is to trim and polish incompleteness into completeness. The other: to drop incompleteness and stand aside — and the remaining state is completeness.

And that completeness is no longer yours. For you are carried away with the things you have left. That completeness is of the whole, of the total. That completeness is of the Paramatma. And this Paramatma is very active. From this Param Shunya all creation is — all creativity. Whether a seed sprouts, or a star is born in the sky, or a flower blossoms, or a person is born — this entire vast arrangement is from that Supreme Void. That void is supremely energy-charged. In trying to be full we make ourselves poor by our own hands. The moment we are empty we become supremely fortunate, owners of the supreme wealth.

Therefore Lao Tzu says: in using it, one must beware of all kinds of perfections. How grave it is! This void! How solemn this emptiness! How bottomless — as though it were the source of all things! As though everything was born from it, as though everything has issued from it. As though it is the honored ancestor, the father of all, the mother of all, the originating source of all.

But he uses very wondrous words, which will seem contradictory. For first he says, dharma is an empty pot. Then he says, how bottomless!

We always take soundings of things. A river with no water you cannot call bottomless. A very full river we call bottomless. When there is so much water that it cannot be gauged, we say, bottomless. A dry river, with no water at all — if someone says it is bottomless, we will call him mad.

Lao Tzu calls that very river bottomless where there is no water. Why? Very interesting. Lao Tzu says: that which has water, though you may not be able to measure it, can be measured.

It can be measured. However difficult, it is not immeasurable; not bottomless. Sooner or later a sounding will be found. A thing cannot be bottomless. Yes — the river without water can be bottomless, for how will you measure what is not? What is, can be measured. Therefore a river with water is never bottomless; a dry river becomes bottomless.

Lao Tzu says: however full a pot, it will not be bottomless; the empty pot is bottomless. The empty pot is bottomless because the void has no means of measurement. There is no method, no scale, no yard to measure it. Even the tiniest emptiness cannot be measured, while the vast universe can be measured.

Hindu darshan has a word: Maya. Maya means that which can be measured, that which is measurable. Maya does not mean illusion; it means the measurable. And since it can be measured, it is an illusion. Maya does not mean delusion. That which can be measured is not the Truth. Truth is immeasurable, ameya; it cannot be measured.

Lao Tzu says, how bottomless!

Think about this too. A person like Lao Tzu does not utter even a grain of word in vain; not an inch of speech is without cause. For to speak is difficult for such a one. Speaking is no pleasure for Lao Tzu; it is a great pain. For what they set out to say is beyond saying. They do not use even one word unnecessarily.

Here is the wonder. Lao Tzu says, how bottomless! He should not say how. In the word how measurement begins — how bottomless! Then why does he use how? If he were to say simply, bottomless, it would appear logical. But he says, how bottomless! With how, measurement begins.

But Lao Tzu does not say a word without reason. Think again. If he says simply bottomless, even then you have measured. If he says, the world is immeasurable, someone may say, you have measured it.

If I say this world is bottomless, it means I have probed it; I have reached the corner, I have seen it all, and I return saying, bottomless. I went into the water and came back saying, bottomless. There are only two possibilities. Either I did not reach the bottom — then I have no right to say bottomless. I should say only this much: as far as I went, I did not find the bottom; beyond that I cannot say. Perhaps just a hand further is the bottom. Or the other possibility: I went to the very end and found it bottomless. But that is absurd. If I reached the end, I reached the bottom. And if I return saying I have seen the very end and there is no bottom, it is wrong — because how did you see the end if there is no bottom? If you reached the end, then there is a bottom.

Therefore Lao Tzu says, how bottomless! He does not give a straight statement even about bottomlessness. Because if he gives it straight, it will seem measured; at least Lao Tzu will seem to have measured it. But he says, how bottomless! In this he says only this much: however much you measure, keep measuring — how bottomless! You measure, and beyond measurement. You reach, and beyond. Wherever you reach, from there it is further. Wherever you arrive, that is not the shore. Wherever you arrive, there you do not find the bottom. In infinite ways you go and see, and find — how bottomless! He does not say bottomless straight. Saying it straight would make it measured.

For this reason many statements are given in contradictory terms. Saying bottomless straight makes it a fixed word; measured. How bottomless! Then even bottomlessness has layers, multi-dimensions. Saying merely bottomless is one-dimensional; saying how bottomless makes it multi-dimensional.

In comparison, Mahavira will make it clearer.

Whenever Mahavira speaks, he does not call Truth merely infinite. He says, infinitely infinite. When he is asked what Truth is like, he does not say infinite. He says, infinite-infinite. Someone asked him, What is this? Saying infinite would be enough. What is the point of adding another infinite?

And it is logically false to add two infinites, because there can be only one infinite. If there were two, each would limit the other. If we say in this world that there are two infinites, neither would remain infinite; both would become finite, because where the other begins, the first ends. Infinite means that which has no end. But where the second begins, the first ends.

Therefore before Mahavira, scriptures used the simple word infinite. The Upanishads use infinite. But infinite is one-dimensional. Mahavira felt that saying infinite seems like it has been measured, as if known. The one who says infinite, as if he knows.

So Mahavira says, infinite-infinite. So infinite that infinite does not suffice. We have to square it: infinite squared, infinite-infinite. So infinite that infinite is not enough — infinite squared. Then the word becomes multi-dimensional, living. Lao Tzu could have said bottomless; but he says, how bottomless! He uses a word like infinite-infinite.

He says, how grave!

Emptiness and grave! Emptiness will be utterly vacant; what gravity can there be? When a river is deep, we say how grave its current! There are two kinds of currents. A shallow current — in small rivers. The stones can be seen under the water; there is a lot of noise, though the water is a hand deep. That is called a shallow flow; not grave. Much chatter.

Then there is a river whose water is so deep that even if there are rocks below, they do not ripple the breast of the river. It flows so silently that standing on the bank you cannot know it is flowing. Then we say, how grave its stream; not even a sound.

Lao Tzu says, how grave! There, there is no stream at all; everything is empty.

The same reason. Lao Tzu says, however slowly a river flows, whether your ears catch it or not — where there is flow there will be sound. It will be little, subtle. You may not hear it. But where there is flow there is friction; and where there is friction there is sound. Therefore only emptiness can be grave; for there is no sound, no flow, no friction. Nowhere to go, nothing to come. All is poised in itself.

So he says, how grave! How deep!

But he adds how. The reason is that no word should become shallow, and no word should give the news that the matter is finished. Let no word be a closure; let every word be an opening. The words of people like Lao Tzu are open. Each of their words opens another door; gives an opening forward. When the pundit speaks, his words are closed. His words draw a boundary and say, here is Truth! Information, so-called knowledge, says, here is Truth. Real knowing points. And points in ways that are not fixed, but living.

Even pointers can be of two kinds. One fixed pointer. If someone points to the moon with a fixed finger, in a little while the moon will have moved, the pointer will remain where it was. If one is truly to keep pointing to the moon, the finger must keep moving, the pointer must be alive, rising with the moon.

People like Lao Tzu do not take Truth to be a dead unit. They see it as a dynamic, living force — a living flow. So their pointers are living. Their hand keeps on moving.

How much! In this how there is no boundary. This how goes beyond all hows. A depth, and a gesture that forever transcends the word. When Mahavira says infinite-infinite, even then there is not as much transcendence in the word as when Lao Tzu says, how! There is even more transcendence. Because Mahavira repeats the word infinite: infinite-infinite. The sound fixes again; a boundary seems to arise. It feels as if there is a definition; as if we can understand. But when one says, how bottomless! this how draws no boundary.

Lao Tzu says: how grave, how bottomless — as if it were the source of all things.

He also says, as if. Those who speak of Truth must place each step with care. He does not say: it is the mother of all things.

Vaihinger wrote a book, The Philosophy of As If. A marvelous book. Among the few valuable books the West has produced in the last hundred years is Vaihinger’s The Philosophy of As If. He says whoever has declared, Truth is so and so, has spoken wrongly. Man can only say, as if. More than that, if man says, he exceeds his limits. It is his ego.

So Vaihinger does not say, God created the world. He says, as if God created the world — the world is so beautiful that it seems as if God made it. For who else could? Vaihinger does not say, God made this world and I will prove it. He says, How will I prove it, I who am a part of this world? If I am entitled to prove, someone else is entitled to disprove. If one part of the world can declare there is God and gather proofs, another part can declare there is not and gather proofs. And when someone says, there is not, we should not say he has gone beyond the limit — because the one who said there is, has already crossed the boundary.

In this world the theists crossed the boundary first. Their statements went beyond man’s limit. The atheists only followed. A person says, I will prove God is. That already goes beyond. Does God need your proof?

Vaihinger says, No — I can only say this much: as I think and search, it seems as if God created the world. It is not a mathematical truth; it is the feeling of my heart. It seems to me that — as if. Even a small flower says to me: it seems as if some God must have made it. My mind refuses to accept it just popped out of the earth between stones. So I say, as if.

Lao Tzu says: as if that which is bottomless, grave, that emptiness, that pot-like void — as if from it all things were born.

This as if, this as though, is very valuable. It is a sign of the great sensitivity of Lao Tzu’s heart. The statement is so sensitive; it is not uttered in the heat of debate, not to prove anything, not to convince anyone. It is an outpouring, it has seemed so. It has been experienced so, a sense has arisen so.

Therefore somewhere Lao Tzu has said — his disciples have gathered many of his statements — Chuang Tzu says Lao Tzu has said: the greater the knower, the more he hesitates. The ignorant declare without hesitation — great statements, not worthy even to sit upon our lips — that God created the universe. Such a statement makes the speaker greater than God. That this act is sin — what act is sin, what act is virtue — such matters are undecidable. The knower will hesitate, he will refrain from pronouncement.

Jesus said: Judge ye not. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Do not take decisions, else one day your decision will be upon you. Do not judge. Things are very complex, very mysterious. What is sin? What is virtue? Here virtue becomes sin; here sin blossoms into virtue. Here what begins as sin ends in flowers of virtue. Here one who begins as virtuous arrives at a sinful end. What is beauty? What is ugly? Now it is morning; soon it is evening. What was beautiful has become ugly. What is beauty?

Mulla Nasruddin’s wife asked him one day: of late I suspect you love me less. May I ask, when I become old will you still love me? Nasruddin said, I will worship you, put the dust of your feet upon my head. But wait — you won’t become like your mother, will you? If you become like your mother, then forgive me, I will fold my hands. You will remain like this, won’t you!

Whom shall we call beautiful? Whom youth? Every step of youth moves into old age. What do we call beauty? Every wave of beauty becomes ugly soon. Here things are mysterious, intertwined, not divided. The world is not such that we can say this is darkness and that is light. It is all twilight — neither can we say light, nor darkness.

Lao Tzu says, the wise hesitate. His statements are filled with hesitation. The ignorant will read and think, perhaps Lao Tzu does not know; otherwise why say as if? If you know, say it; if you don’t, say it. Speak clearly. If you do not know where the world arose from, say you do not know; if you know, say it came from here. Why say as if? This shows your ignorance.

In truth, the ignorant never see the mystery of things. Fixed concepts are convenient. You say, this man is a sinner — the matter is finished. But sinners can do virtue. You say, this man is virtuous — the matter is finished. But the virtuous can do sin. Then what is the meaning of your labels? If a virtuous man can sin and a sinner can be virtuous, your labels are dangerous. Why fix them? They had no meaning.

But we gain convenience. We become settled. We categorize, put people into boxes, and rest. Though nothing stops for our sake, nothing changes for us; life remains dynamic.

Lao Tzu is very hesitant. Very few like him have lived in the world with such hesitation. In India only Buddha has so much. Even he, not this much. Why? Because, as I told you yesterday, Buddha declared: I will not answer certain questions. Even that becomes quite definite. One definiteness is that these are the answers; another definiteness is that there are no answers. But the answer is definite — there are no answers. There is no uncertainty.

Lao Tzu says, as if. It is hypothetical; imagine, let your feeling run — perhaps it will occur to you, as if out of this emptiness everything has arisen.

It has. Everything has arisen from this emptiness. But to say so definitively is trespass. For then the emptiness becomes so small that we place it before us and see: out of this everything has arisen. The void becomes small, not vast. Not bottomless, not deep, not infinite — too small. We put it upon the lab table and say, from this all is born. No mystery remains.

Lao Tzu says: as though this very void were the mother.

If people ask Lao Tzu, Is there God? Lao Tzu does not answer yes or no. People like Lao Tzu live so close to the divine that they cannot answer in yes or no.

Mulla Nasruddin is in court. The magistrate says, Nasruddin, you are a word-spinner. You twist words so that we fall into difficulty. Answer in yes or no. Otherwise the case will never end. You make things so roundabout that we keep circling and reach nowhere. Answer yes or no — only then can the matter be settled.

Nasruddin said, But matters worthy of answers cannot be answered in yes or no. And those that can be answered in yes or no are not worthy of answers. Then you made me swear to speak truth — take that oath back. Then I can answer yes or no. You put me under oath; I am on oath, and truth is not such that it can be answered in yes or no.

The magistrate said, Give an example of a question that cannot be answered yes or no.

Nasruddin said, I ask you, sir, have you stopped beating your wife? Answer yes or no.

The magistrate was in trouble. If he says yes, it means he used to beat her. If he says no, it means he is still beating her.

Nasruddin said, Well? Remove my oath, then I will answer yes or no. But there are many things, said Nasruddin, that cannot be answered in yes or no.

And where God is concerned, yes and no become utterly useless. There both atheist and theist are foolish. To answer in yes or no is to be downright foolish. Things there are very fluid and interpenetrating.

Therefore Lao Tzu, with great hesitation, says: as if all has arisen out of this emptiness.

To be continued tomorrow. Two sutras remain; we will finish them in two days, and we will have a third day left — whatever questions you have gathered in the meantime, bring them on the third day. So prepare your questions, whoever wishes to ask.